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A NOVEL 

Dratomof^iaaom entertainment* 



DESIGNED, WRITTEN, AND AEKANGED 

FOR THE EXCLUSIVE USE OF 

MADAME MARIE CROQUET AND M. PERCIVAL CROQUET 



BY 



X 



GEO. P. AND HAEEIETTE CROOK, 



OLD CAMBBIDOE, MASS. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by Geoeoe Fredk. & Harristte CROOKj 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



A LIMITED EDITION 



PRINTED FOR PRIVATE USE ONLY. 

1874. 



% 



**> 



May Mirth exalt the Feast. 




MPFIE PAETY 



A NOVEL 



Dratotug^iaaom entertainment* 



DESIGNED, WRITTEN, AND ARRANGED 
'fok the exclusive use ok 

MADAME MARIE CROQUET AND M. PERCIVAL CROQUET 



BY 

GEO. F. AND HAERIETTE CROOK, 

OLD OAMBKIDGE, MASS. 



Entered accoidiag to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by GEOBGE Fredk. & Harribite Ceook, ^ _^ 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. - ^. r\'~ n ^''^^ 



^•V^COPYRIGHT^nN 



A LIMITED EDITION 

PRINTED FOR PRIVATE USE ONLY. 
1874. 






\p 



i 



s^ 



TMP92-008986 



Dramatis Persons. 



MADAME MARIE CROQUET (the Hostess). 

A smart, business-like woman, slightly given to " hen-peck," 
but does her best to please. 
MONSIEUR PERCIVAL CROQUET (the Host). 

An aspirant to literary honors, who dislikes to be inter- 
rupted ; but is always glad of an opportunity to read to 
otters some of his writings. 
MISS BERLINDA CROQUET (their Daughter). 

.Vn over-grown girl, — much older than she looks, — who 
frets because she cannot go into society. 
SARAH REEVES (Chambermaid). 

Not very industrious, but very inquisiti\e, and thinks she 
knows something of singing. 
POLLY WOREIN (Chore-woman). 

Very slow ; very old ; suffers from all sorts of complaints,, 
but has one comfort. 
MR. FRANK BLUSHINGTON (a Guest). 

A very timid, bashful young man, whose nerves have been 
shaken by painful adventures. 
MR. OBADIAH CODDLETON (Guest) and his INFANT 
DAUGHTER. 
A fussy old gentleman, who is in a peculiar situation. 
MISS GRUMBLE (a Guest). 

A young lady about thirty years of age, who is constantly 
bewailing her unprotected condition, and '-can't abear 
babies." 
DOCTOR QUACK. 

An exponent of strange and violent remedies. 
MRS. MARTHA BRO"WN (a Caller). 

An English lady (rather old, but very fat), who •' 'as some- 
think to say upon heverythink, as the sayin' is." 
jrOE BROWN (her Son, a Sailor in the British Service), 
Who has much love for his mother, but more for his ship. 



MADAME CROQUET'S SUPPER PARTY. 



A'cenc — Drawixg-Room in M. Croquet's House. M. Croqutit .Hscovered 
sitting at a sMe-table. deei. in study. Great crash heard in the kitchen. 
Mar-OIE Croquet, in great excitement, enters a moment afterwards. 
M. Cu. still undisturbed. 

Madame Croquet. Graciou?, Mr. Croquet ! did not you 

hear that awful crash in the kitchen? 

M. Croquet. Crash, my dear ? Well, I thought I heard 

somelhiu^'. 

'^ (Stdl writing.) 

Mme. Cr. Something, indeed ! Everything, you mean ! 

M. Cr. Everything ? 

° (Still wTTiting.) 

Mme. Cr. Yes ; positively, every disli is spoiled — turkey, 
chicken, lainb, b«;;ef, salmon, soup, in fact, all the good things, 
have been upset through the carelessness of that stupid cook. 
I'm sure I don't know what to do ! 

M. Cr. Well, I guess you had better have them picked up 
again. What do you think? 

Mme. Cr. It seems to me, Percy, you don't know what 
you're talking about. Our company have arrived, the supper 
is entirely spoiled, and you sit as cool as a cacumber, pre- 
tending to make a book I should like to know where your 
politeness is, that you have not yet welco;;ied o ir guests ! 

M. Cr. There, don't be mad, my dear ; I was so deeply 
interested in my writing, that I did not really know there 
was any one in the room. I certainly must apologise. 

(Takes Mme. (..'.'s band and advances.) 

Ladies and gentlemen, I trust you will pardon my seeming 

want of courtesy ; but being very anxious to complete a book 

(which will, i)robably, immortalize my name) — 

Mme. Cr. Come, come, Percy, to the point.] 

M. Cr. (Ah, yes, I had forgotten the supper. Ladies and 

geutlemen, in consequence of the cook's carelessness, we shaU 



have to postpone supper. However, we, with the assistance 
of some of our guests, will endeavor to make the time pass 
pleasantly. 

(Sits down to •write again. ) 

Mme. Cr. Really, Mr. Croquet, you are enough to try the 
patience of Job himself. You have just promised to enter- 
tain our company, and now you return to that abominable 
writing. Is that your style of entertainment, pray ? 

M. Cr. Oh, dear ! What an alfliction it is to be born h 
literary genius ! 

Mme. Cr. Ha, ha ! Excuse me, M. Croquet, did you say 
a genius ? Ha, ha, ha ! 

M. Cr. Now, ray dear, don't be sarcastic. "What shall I 

(Rising from his cbair.) 

do ? I am sure I'm quiet willing to do anything iu the worl^ 
to please anybody or everybody. 

Duetto. (Music arranged from Mercadante.) 
Mme. Cr. — Why don't j'ou do something, then? 
M. Ck. — Happy thought ! I'll take ray pen ! 

(Sits down to write.) 
Mme. — Your scribblings will never please! 
M. — I can do naught if thus you tease. 

Mme. — Rhymes will never do. 
M. — I'll pen something new. 

Mme. — Pshaw ! it's not in you ! 

(Throws down pen, and rises.) 
M. — (This will never do !) 

Mme. — Just what I want t'impress on you, 
Both — That I j'our I designs to please our guests will never do. 
I ™y 1 
Mme. — Let us act some good charades. 
M. — I'd rather have a game at cards. 

Mme. — But they all can't play. 
M. — I've no more to say ! 

Mme. — Praj' don't put on airs. 
M. — I shall go up stairs. 

KoTH. — And change I your I coat and brush I your I hair, and 
I my I I ™y I 

hurrj' up to help I me I make some fun down here. 
I yoa I 

(Exit M. CR.f 

Mme. Cr. Oh, these literary men ! I've no patience with 
them. Why they ever marry, I can't tell ! It's all very linf 
on their part to promise, when they marry a woman, to love, 
cherish, and worship her ! Cherish her, indeed ! The only 
thing they seem to cherish or worship is a book or a news- 
paper. Ail, me, I wish I was a book ! 

(Enter M. Cb.1 



M. Cr. So do I, my dear ; and if 1 had my choice it 
should be an Almanac. 
Mme. Cr. Wliy so? 
M. Cr, That I might have a change with each New Year 

(Door-bull rings.) 

Why doesn't Sarah answer that bell i^ 

Mme. Cr. Simply becHU e I told her to help cook, and 
not on any aceonut to leave the kitchen, unless I told her. 
I expected Polly Warein here to litdp, but she didn't come. 
I'm afraid it's the old, old story — the bottle. Ill go to 
the door. 

(Exit Mme. Cr. while Bell rings.) 

Song, " Grumble, Grumble." By M. Croquet. 

I hate to hear folks grumble, as you know some peop'e do; 
They grumble all day lonff, and spend the niuht in growling too; 
To grumble is the privilege of Enf^lishmen, they fav, 
-Vnd so its best to let them croui anil growl their lives away. 

Grumble away ! grumble a way ! 

When a little thing goes wrong as sometliing will each day. 

Grumble away ! grumble awav ! 

You can never please some folk, try what you mny, 

Some children grumble at their food, and sulk all day, and pout. 
If mine e'er grumble iit tiieir foid I m ike tjiem go without. 
The youthful maid n grumbles wlien n'> sweetlieart comes to woo; 
But how she grumbles when she is perplexed by having two! 

My wife does grumble when, at night, I stay out rather late, 
And when she blo^s me up, why, tlien, I yrumlile at my fate; 
Jly wife will grumble if not dressed in fash'on?* of the day. 
But how it mukes me grumble when liie bills I have to pay. 

But let them growl who will. I-sny. They can't appreciate 
The beauties of this world, who ahvays grumble at their fa'e. 
Whilst there's a brighter side of life, the darker one dou't view. 
But make the best of everything. That's what I alwaj-s do. 

M. Cr. I promised to amuse you, somehow, and I'm sure 

I don't know what to do! Ilm! let me think a moment. 

Oh! ah! yes! I read you a few extracts from my book. 

Why? How's tliis? I can't find the beginning! 

Confound that girl, the has Leen meddling with my papers 

again ! Sarah ! 

(Looks .about for papers, and rings bell.) 

Enter S.vRAH Reeves, singing, 

Sarah. "The bells all keep ringing for Sarah," &c. Lor 

sir, why, what's the mattei- now ? (I never did see anytbin^ 

like tj>e way folks pull belld in this 'ere house). 



M. Cr. Have you moved any of my papers, Sarah ? 

Sar. Me moved your papers, sir ? Why, I never touches 
nothing. Mi?sis is always asking me where I've put this, and 
where I've put that; just as though I'd touch or even look at 
anything as didn't belong to me. Well, I guess I cau't stay 
to look for any papers now, I'm busy with t'other boss. 

M. Cr. What do you mean, Sarah ! 

Sar. Why, t'other master — that is, missis. 

M. Cr. Well, you'd better look around, and see whether 
you have not packed them away somewhere. 

(Search begins. — Sarah singing.) 

Sar. " Oh, the bells keep on ringing for Sarah," &c. 

M. Cr. (Confound that girl's noise !) Can't you stop that 
singing until you get in the kitchen, Sarah ? 

Sar. Well sir, the fact is I can't live without singing ; and 
what is more, I can't sing in the kitchen, 

M. Cr. Why not? 

Sar. Oh, 'cause as soon as I begin, missis comes down and 
says to me, says she, "Now Sarah, I do wish you would en- 
deavor to sing your songs in a lower key." Of course I says 
" Yes, marm ; " but you don't catch this child going down into 
a lower key to sing. 

M. Cr. Do you understand what your mistress means, 
Sarah ? 

Sar. 1 guess I do, too. She means I'd better go dowa 
into tlxe cellar. You may laugh, sir, but I know what's what. 
Talking of singing, sir, do you know that all our family are 
real fond of singing ? 

M. Cr. (Pshaw, I wish the girl would find my papers and 
take herself off.) Oh, are they ? 

Sar. Oh, yes, indeed ; and I've an uncle in the Old Coun- 
try whose name is Jim Reeves, and he sings real good. Have 
you ever been to the Old Country, sir ? 

M. Cr. Oh, yes. 

Sar. Did you ever hear of Jim Reeves ? 

M. Cr. I've heard of Sims Reeves. 

Sar. A h, well, it's all the same, he's my uncle. Did you 
ever see him ? 

M. Cr. Oh, yes, yes. 

Scir. Was he like me ? 

M. Cr. Why, Sarah, he's is a tall, handsome fellow (only 
he seems to have a decided objection to salt water). 



Sar. Well, so was my father. I thiuk I shall write aj 
letter to uncle, aud ask him to come and see me. 

M. Cr. Now, just see whether you can't find those papers 
of mine ; and I will go and look for them in the library. 

(Exit M. Cr. Sarah sits down, takes book from lier pookot, and reads.) 
Song. " I never does notliiug at all." Sarah. 

(Re-enter M. Croquet, coughing. ) 
M. Cr. Have you foimd those papers, vSarah ? 
Sar. Oh, — Here they are, sir. 

(Exit Sakau, singing, " Tlie bells." &c.) 

M. Cr. Now I've got my papSi-s in order, I will read a 
morsel of rare beauty. 

Ueads an Extract. (Bell rings.) 

(Enter Polly Warein.) 

Polly Wareiu. How-de-clo, Mister Croky, hopes I sees 
yer well, sir. 

M. Cr. (Drat the woman, what does she wunt pothering 
here!) I'm quite well, Mrs. Warein, but I'd just like to 
know whether you ever had a mother ? 

Polly. Lawks ! Yessir. Why ? 

M. Cr. Why ! Did she ever teach you manners ? 

Polly. Manners. What's bhat ? 

M. Cr. Did she not teach you to knock at the door, before, 
you entered a gentleman's room ? 

Polly. AVell, you see, sir, 'tis so long ago, I quite forget. 
Where's missis. 

. M. Cr. You may well ask " Wliere's the Missis." I can 
tell you she's real mad about you not coming to help this 
morning, as you promised. Where have you been all the 
day, and why did'nt you come before this ? Eh ? 

Polly. Fact is, Mis'.er Croky, I've had another 'tack of 
my Rooraatiz, aud so I'll jest tell yer all about it. 
SONO. " Rheumatics." Polly Warein. 

M. Cr. Come, now, hurry up, old lady ; you see we have 

friends here, and you're wanted in the kitchen. Besides you 

interrupted me in my reading. 

Polly. Is that so ? Then I'D clear out, 

(Exit Polly.) 
M. Cr. While the old girl was telling her story, 1 selected 

a piece which I am sure will please. 

Reads ati Extract. 

(Enter Mme Ckoqtjet.) 



M. Cr. Ah ! Marie, where have you beeu all this time f 
Mrs. Warein has been in here, relating all her woes as usual. 
Have you seen her? 

Mnie. Cr. Oh, yes. I saw the tiresome old thing. I've 
set her to work in the kitchen. She really is very provoking. 
The first thinfj she did was to set a hod of coal tumbling; down 
the stairs, which, of course, woke up the children, and I have 
had to sit for half an hour singing them to sleep ! 

M. Cr. Capital ! Then you arc nicely in trim to sing to 
us here. 

Mnie. Cr. That's too bad of you, Percy ; but as I prom- 
ised to help entertain our friends, I may as well begin. Sup- 
pose I sing that song you wrote for me. 

M. Cr. Yes, if you please. 

(Exit M. Cit. during singing.) 
SoxG. " Kiss uie, —Good Niglit." Mme. Croquet. 

Dear mothci-, when my prayer is said, before you take the light, 
Oil, lean your liea<l so closely down, and always kiss, — Good Niglit. 
For I am happier in my dreams, and sleep is sweeter rest. 
If I have laid my lips to thine, and thine to mine are pressed. 
Then, mother, when, &c. 

One kiss, dear mother, for the love my heart keeps warm for thee; 
And one for all the tenderness thy sweet eyes look to me ; 
And kiss me for the orphan cluld, to whom no kiss is given ; 
And next, for all the happy ones; and, then, for one in heaven. 
So, mother, when, &c. 

(Enter Frank Blu.shington.) 

Mme Cr. Good evening, Mr. Blushington ; I am glad to 
see you. Where have you been this long time? 

Prank. Good evening, madam ; I am glad to see you so 
well. 

Mme. Cr. Why, Frank, it is months since you were here. 

Frank. Yes, ma'am, it is. 

Mm©. Cr. What have you been doing with yourself all 
the time? Eh? Now Frank, my dear fellow, don't blush; 
I thought you had got over that weakness by this time. I 
guess there's a lady in the question. Come, take a seat. 
Fancy I'm your mother, and confide in me. 

(Both sit.) 

Frank. Well, my dear Madame Croquet, the fact is, the 
last time I ventured out, in response to a pressing invitation, 
my nervous system received such an awful shock, that I have 
not ventured out in company since. 

Mme. Cr. I want to know ! 



Prank. If it will not tire your patieuce, I will give you 
a s'lort sketch of ray life. 

Mme. Cr. We shall be delighted to hear it, so please 
proceed. 

Frank. I was born in the county of Surrey, in England, and, as you are 
aware, am my parents' eldest son My father was a farmer, and in tlie course 
of an active life, aniasseil considerable property. When I was about 16 years old 
iuy parents, havin? snfftcieut means to enable them to live without labor for 
the remainder of their days, and to give my brother and I a fair start in life, 
and being desirous that each of ns might see some of the most noted cities of 
the civili'ied w.u-ll, sold their farm and other property, and set sail for the 
coaMnent of America. When a boy my education was not neglected, for my 
father believed that, whatever financial troubles might arise in our journey 
through this world, with a sound education we should rise superior to them. I 
therefore received the best education to be obtained in a country town ; and my 
brother is pursuing his stu lies in this country. There was another motive my 
parents had fir leaving their home and friends and taking this tour. I grieve 
to s ly that it w.as on my account. From my earliest childhood I have been 
afflicted with that worst of all atHictions, an excessive timidity, or bashfulness. 
As a boy, I used to shrink from others of my own age, even from my class- 
mates at school, preferring the quietness and seclusion of home to their sportive 
compani iiiship. As I grew to manhood, instead of emerging from this painful 
Btate, it soemed to take a, firmer hold upon me ; — so that if I should be obliged 
to seek an interview with any person of importance, or be suddenly addre.ssed 
by any one iu company, or have to adilress any lady not connected with our 
family circle, my heart would sink within me, my face become suffused with 
blushes, and ray bloo I, coursing rapidly through my veins, would tingle to the 
extremities of my fingers, and I have at times felt a wish that the ground 
would open and engulph me. My brother is not afflicted thus, but is blessed 
In having a less nervous temperament. This was the primary motive which 
induceil my parents to travel. They were advised that change, both of scene 
and society, would bo conducive to my best interests, and tend to relieve me of 
tins incubus upon my life. Unfortunately for me, I can find no relief, no im- 
provement. I have become a member of a dancing school, in the hope that I 
might gain greater frecilom of manner, but with the s.ame result. Friends have 
Introduced me to many person of position and influence, which, to any one not 
afflicted as I am, would be deemed a great privilege; but I have dreaded the 
Introduction on my way thither, .and on my arrival, have earnestly longed for 
the hour of departure that I might escape from their warm welcomes and pres- 
sing invitations to '* Call again soon." Urged by my parents, I at last sum- 
moned sufficient courage to accept one of these cordial invitations. It was from 
the Hon. Willi.am Waller, a gentleman residing on a magnificent estate about 
five miles from the city. lie possesses considerable wealth, which, it is as- 
serted wid be shared by his two daughters {Emmie and Susie) at his decease. 
This was the reason why mamma urged me to accept the invite. Emmie was 
an especial fovorite of mamma's, and had condescended to notice me favorably 
on more than one occasion when we had met ; and mamma hoped that in time 
mutuiil affection might more closely unite us. On the day appointed for the 
visit, 1 paid special attention to my toilet; and wended my way to their house 
with feelings much easier imagined tban described; and when I rung the door- 
bell, it seemed to me as if its tintinabulation would never cease; and had it not 
been for the tremor that seized me, causing my limbs to shake under me, 1 cer- 
tainly should have run away. The door was opened by the footman, who took 
my card, and then ushered me into the library, where sat the host, who was 
suffering from gout. He rose, and welcomed me warmly. At this moment, 
Mrs. Waller entered the room behind where I stood, and in my anxiety to make 
a bow to her with all the grace and dignity at my command, while turning, I 
accidently trod upon the Hon. Mr. Waller's gouty foot. I hasted to apologise; 
"but though the perspiration stood upon liis brow, through the pain, he smiled. 



and assured me it was nothing. In a short time my nerves became somewhat 
calmed ; but, althougli I tried my best, I certainly did not fuel at ease. Seeing 
the room surrounded with biwk-cases filled with handsomely bound books, I of 
course imagined that the Hon. Mr. Waller was a literary gentleman. He 
geemed pleased with my remarks on the subject, and expatiated warmly on 
tlie literary treasures his library contained. In looking at titles of some of the 
books on the top shelf, I was astonished to liiid, among the clas-ics, '• Virgil's- 
iEneid" in 15 volumes. As 1 hail never seen an edition containing more than 
two volumes, I expressed my astonishment and desire to examine this liierary 
wonder. My host rose, as I thought, to get the book for me; and I, knowing 
tliat his foot pained him, and anxious to save him unnecessary trouble, hurrieilly 
fclid my h:in I on tlie volume nearest to me, when a board covered with leather 
and gilding t > imitate the backs of books, came tumbling down, and fell cor- 
nerwiso f n a silver inkstand I hat stood on a table beneath, causing the ink to 
trickle down on to the beautiful Brussel's carjiet. In my excitement and anx- 
iety, not knowing what I did, I took out my white pocket-handkerchief and 
tried to sop up the ink. At this moment the servant announced that dinner 
was ready, and I was ushered to the dining room. I was seated opi)osite to 
Miss Emmie, and during the first course, while bowing to her in acknowledg- 
ment of a .sweet smile from her, when unfi)rtunately, through the waiter placing 
It too near the edge of the table, I upset my soup-plate into my lap. You may 
easily imagine the state of ndnd 1 was in. However, they all tried their best 
to calm my agitatioTi. The waiter brought mo plenty of napkins to wiiie off the 
soup, which had spoiled my i)ants. Nothing occured after this to disturb me, 
and 1 was beginning to be more at my ease. I had even gained coiifi<lence ,suf- 
Qcient to take a glass of wine with Miss Emmie, and had g me so far as to ven- 
ture niaUing a remark on the state of the weather. I had just been helped to 
a. iilate of puiMing, and while in the act of raising a piece to my lips. Miss Susie 
desired me to help her to snue sauce that stoovl near me. In my has'e to do 
80, I popped the pudding into my mouth, not knowing it was so hot. My agony 
was so great I scarcely knew how to contain myself, and was compelled to let 
It fall back again to my plate. JMy poor month was drea<lfidly scahled and 
blistered. They all sympathized deeply in my sufferings, and a variety of rem- 
edies were suggcsteil. One ailvlsed oil, another water, and another milk, but 
all agreed that perhaps sherry wine was the best to draw out the fire. There- 
fore sherry was ordered to be brought. Now whether it was done by accident, 
or whether the waiter purposely designed to drive mo mad, I know not; but he 
brought me a glass of str.>ng pale brandy, with which I, not knowing what it 
was, filled my mouth Imagine my liorror. Unused to ardent spirits, my 
mouth, tongue, and throat blistered and raw, what was I to do ? I could not 
Bwallow it. I was in agony, with my mouth on fire, my lower extremities in a 
parboiled state with the soup, and my mind trouble 1 with my unlucky position, 
what was I to do ! I raised my hands to my mouth, and before I could help 
myself the brandy scpurteil through my fingers, all over the dishes on the table. 
There was a smde on nearly everyone's face, which they strove to hiile. Bu^ 
my cup of sorrow was not yet full My sufferings and mishaps had put me in 
a great perspiration, to relieve myself of which I unthinkingly puUetl out my 
Inky hamlkerchief, and wiped my face, besmearing it all over with black Tha 
family couM no longer contain themselves, but gave vent to a chorus of loud 
laughter; in the midst of which I rose from the table and left the house. I 
Lave not ventured to go out visiting since. 

Mme. Cr. This iiervou.^ness, or ratlier, bashfulness, ia 
you is a very serious matter, indeed ; and I think you ought 
to seek a i^ood physician's advice on the sul)ject. Don't you 
think you might conquer it if you set yourself earnestly to 
the task ? 

Frank. Oh dear, no. 

poJ»G. "The Bashful Man." Frakk Clushijjgxok. 



Mme. Cr. Ha ! ha ! You iaoor timid creature. I really 
chink I shall be doing you a great kindness if I ask one of 
my young lady friends to propose to you. Ha ! ha ! 

Frank. You are very good madam. But, — dear me, — 
I had almost forgotten this parcel. It is a song that mamma 
and I heard the other evening, at a grand concert ; and we 
thought you would like it, knowing that you have a particular 
fancy for new music. 

(Mhe. Cr. takes tlie music, and begins to unroll it ) 

And I must wish you good evening, as I promised to meet 
mamma at the depot. 

Mme. Cr. I am sorry you are obliged to leave us. But 
thank mamma for the music. I am sure I shall like it, for 
our tastes are similar. Good evening, Frank, call again soon. 

(Exit FitAXK. Mme. Ck. examines music.) 

Mme. Cr. Ha I ha ! Oh, Frank Blushington, it's all very 
well for you to talk to me about your bashfulness, your ex- 
treme horror of meeting a lady, and all the rest of it ; I am 
convinced of one thing, sir : and that is, You are in love. 
Now, what do you think he has brought me ? A New Song, 
he said. Ha ! ha ! But perhaps some of you may never 
have heard it, so with your permission, I'll try it over. 
SoxG. " .star Spangled Banner." Mada.me Croquet. 

(Exit Mme. Cr. for a moment, and return.) 

Mme. Cr. Here is another piece of evidence in favor of 
my assertion that Frank must be in love : he returns, apolo- 
gises for leaving me tlie wrong music, and hands me this 
parcel. We will see whether this is as good as the other. 

Ballad. "Kathleen;" or any now and popular song may be substituted. 

(Baby's cry heard. Mme. Cu. goes to door. Enter Ob.vdiah Coddleton 
with babe in arms. ; 

Mme. Cr. Why Obadiah Coddle ton, how do you do ? 
Where's your wife ? I haven't had the pleasure of seeing 
either of you since your wedding. And a baby too ! Bless 
its little heart — do let me take it. Got any teeth yet "? No ? 

(Takes baby, who keeps on crying.) 

Why, dear me, what makes it cry so ? 

Obad. Oh, I wi.sh my little woman would hurry up ! 

Mme. Cr. Where, for pity sake can Mrs. Coddleton be ? 

Obad. I'm sure I can't say. AYe were waiting for the 
car to come up, and when it stopped I hurried into it, because 
I was carrying baby. It was awfully crowded ; and when it 
started, I looked round for Mrs. Coddleton, but could not see 



her anywhere. Baby kept on cryhig, as it always does when 
I take her. The folks looked ugly at me, and the young fel- 
lows with their girls kept on whispering and laughing. Ah, 
I thought, laugh away, you'll all have to come to it some day. 
You may guess I felt uncomfortable about my wife, though 1 
felt sure she'd come on by the next car ; and what with the cry 
of baby, and the awkwardness of my position, not thinking 
of what I was doing, I groaned aloud, " Oh, where can Mrs. 
Coddleton be ! " At wdiich all the people laughed. (Do be 
quiet baby, I can't hear myself speak. Come to papa, then, 
and he'll sing to his little Sissy.) 

(Takes baby. Bell rings ) 
Mme. Cr. There's the bell. I dare say that is your wife. 
I'll run and bring her to you. 

(Exit Mjie. Ck. Ouadiah plays with baby.) 

Song. "Bubble and Squeak." Obadiah Coddleton. 

(Eater Miss Gkumble, soliliquising. ) 

Miss G. (Pshaw ! babies again ; I wonder where I can go 
to get out of their w^ay ?) Ah, Obadiah, how do you do ? 

Obad. (Lawks! it's Miss Grumble). How do, miss ; I 
hope you're well. 

Miss G. Yes, I'm well enough ; but what's the matter 
with that child ? 

Obad. My wife says it's teething, but I can't feel any 

through yet. 

Miss G. Pshaw ! teethin<T, Teething is the universal ex- 
es o 

cuse, never temper. Where's your wife ? It appears to me 
that she is the proper person to take care of that child ; but I 
suppose she is like all the young wives now-a-days. Ah, me ! 
if I was a w^ife — • — ; but I'll say no more on that subject. 

(Walks about excitedly.) 

Obad. You ask me where my wife is. I really don't 
know. I wish I did. We got an invitation to Mrs. Croquet' s 
Supper Party, and we started out to come. It is the firs t 
time we've been out with baby, and if this is the way I have 
to suffer, I hope it will be the last. When the car came up, 
it was awfully crowded. (Do be good, baby, there's a pet ; 
mamma's coming). As I was carrying baby, I got a-board 
the car first, thinking, of course, that my wife was following. 
After the car started I kept looking around, but could not 
see her. Baby kept crying, and she would have obeyed the 
voice of nature and have come to the child if she had been in 
Jhe car. The people looked cross, some made remarks about 



kiduappiug, others laughetl at my attempts to amuse the chikL 
I cau safely say that I never felt more miserable in my life ; 
and not knowing what I was doing, I groaned aloud " Oh, 
dear, where can Mrs. Coddletou be ! " At which everybody 
laughed. I guess she will come by tlie next car. 

Miss G. My good man, I don't think you need m^ke sucli 
a fuss about your wife's absence. She will only have to wait 
an hour for the next car. But is it not possible to quiet that 
child's noise ? 

Obad. I wish I could ; but the little thing must be hungry. 

Miss G. Then why not give it something to efit ? Here, 
give it these. 

(Gives dry cracker. Obauiah coaxes child, wlio still cries.) 

Obad. Oh, dear, where can Mrs. Coddleton be! I wish 
she would come. 

Miss G. Just like the men, when they are in any difTiculty, 
then they wish for us. Perhaps the child would like some of 
this candy. Give it anything in the world to make it quiet. 

(Obadiah wliistles and feeils it with candy. Child chokea. 

See here, I guess I can fix it. Just you put that candy into 
the corner of this handkercliief, — it's quite clean. There, — 
she's all right now. 

Obad. What a great mind you have. Miss Grumble ; you 
are always ready to help in any emergency. It's a thousand 
pities that you were not married. 

Miss G. Pshaw ! Don't talk nonsense. 

(Walks about excitedly.) 

Obad. Has anything unpleasant occurred to make you so 
nervous ? 

Miss G. Yes. Something has occurred. I have been 
most grossly What's the mattter with the brat now ? 

(Child swallows handkerchief— chokes. Commotion.) 

Obad. You wicked, wicked woman. Oh, my poor 

l)aby. She's swallowed your nasty, dirty liandkerchief. 

Oh, what shall I do ? Send for a doctor. Oh, 

dear, where can Mrs. Coddleton be ? 

(Exit Obadiah with child.) 

Miss G. What a fuss to make about a baby choking. I 
don't believe there would have been half as much made if it 
had been me. Not even a notice in the newspaper. What- 
ever I was sent into this world for I can't tell. He wanted 
to know what ailed me. To tell the truth, I've just been 
awfully annoyed, as indeed I often am liy some horrid crea- 
ture or other. 



Song. " Unprotected Female." Miss Grumble. 

(Miss Geumble is about to leave. Enter Dr. Quack.) 

Miss G. Bless the man — how you scared me. 

Dr. Q. I did not intend to startle you, ma'am. I must 
apologise. Your servant came running to me, saying that a 
child was in a fit here. My card. 

Miss G. It was not my servant. But as I'm going down 
I'll present your card. (Dr. Quack ! A very awkward name 
for a doctor.) 

Dr. Q. Yes, ma'am. But nev-er-the-less, " I am," &c. 

(Exit Miss Grumble.) 

SoxG. "The Quack Doctor." Dr. Quack. 

I am a learned surgeon, and my name is Dr. Quack. 

My draughts and pills to cure your ills I carry at my back. 

My medicines are the nastiest that ever cured a pain ; 

If once you've tasted them, I know, you'll ne'er be sick again. 

Then oh my, anybody ill, anybody ill, oh my, hi! 

I'm Dr. Quack-quack-quack-aka-quack, 

I'll cure you of any attack. 

I've syrup of squills and I've camomile pills, 

And my name is Dr. Quack. 

I've lotions for the measles, and I've powders for the croup ; 
I cure the girls of whooping cough by taking off their hoop. 
My plaisters are so very strong, they'll draw out every tooth, 
And last week drew live tons of coal from Boston to Dululh. 

I've pills for the complexion, if you rub them in at night, 
If you've been red as beet-root, in the morning you'll be wliite. 
They'll cure a smoky fire, and take away the kettle's boil. 
They're made of railway grease & soap, Dutch cheese, & castor oil. 

I've got a syrup you can take for toothache in the nose ; 

I've powders for a wooden arm, and pills for timber toes. 

I stop the mouths of .scolding wives — their double teeth I draw ; 

I clap a padlock on their tongues, which makes them hold their jaw. 

I've ointment for a mother-in-law — if she swallows half a pound, 

She will never trouble you again, for she will sleep so sound. 

Who'll have a dozen leeches, and I'll put them on your back. 

You wont. — Then he must go elsewhere to trade, must Dr. Quack. 
(Exit Dr. Quack. Enter Berlinda Croquet.) 
Berlinda. (There's no one coming.) How do folks. I'm 
Berlinda Croquet, I am. Mamma sent me to bed, awhile 
ago, I guess I wasn't a-going to stay there, anyway. I want 
to have a real'good time to night as well as other folks ; and 
I mean to have it, too. You needn't look at me as if I was a 
child, because I ain't. I'm real old, though mamma dresses 
me a-kinder young. I can do piles of things, too. I can 
dance. I can skip. I can paint. I can sing real nice. I 
can play the piano with one finger, when nobody is looking. 
Yet mamma won't bring me out. It's really too bad. 



Song. " Mamuia won't bring lue out.'" Berlinda Ckoquet. 

(A strange voice heard outside.) 
More folks coming. I must scamper off. Pray don't tell, 
mamma that I've been here. Oh, my sorrows, shouldn't I 
just catch it. 

(Exit Beklind.\. Enter Mrs. Brown.) 
Mrs. Brown. As I says to Mrs. Smith just afore 1 left 
Hiugland, says I to 'er, Wotev^er you do, Mrs. Smith, never 
'ave that child bout in the night hair, its not good for it ; but 
lor it aint no use a-talkin to young mothers novv-a-days, they 
thinks as they knows a great deal better than their grand-^ 
mothers, as the sayin is. It's my wery umble opinion that 

that hinfant down stairs has got cold in its little ; and 

when I wentured to make a remark on the subject, that old 
noodle as they calls Dr. Quack says to me says he, I shall 
steam it a favor if you'll go hout, as you hoccupies space and 
hair ; and takes old of my harm to lead me to the door. So 
I says to him, says I, Ands off, you pisoning hold viper, or I'll 
have the law agin yer. And I looked at im sewere like, and 
then he let go. So I says to him says I, If that child dies 
it'll be through that orrid stomic-pump, as only wants a 
drop of summut warm, as I well knows through being the 
mother of nine : and I then left him. But I find its alike all 
the world over, as proffered services stink, as the sayin is. 
And then its grandfather or great-grandfather, or wotever he 
is, ought to be sent to Sing-Sing for a month, then he would 
know better than to bring that poor little creetur away from 
its ome at night, to sing " Bubble and Squeak." For ray 
part, I've had enough to last me many a year, as its mighty 
bad for the digestive horgans, and too eavy for a child like 
that. But I wonder where Mrs. Croky is. She little 

thought when we parted in Europe at the hotel that I Martha 
Brown of Kentish Town, would ever cross that wery wide 
river as some folks calls the Hatlantic Hoshun. But when 
Brown come ome one day he says to me says he, Martha, says 
he, How would you like to go to the most wonderful country 
in the world, which you can in 9 or 10 days? So I says to 
him, Why, Brown, says I, if you means Ameriky why I'll be 
delighted to go, as we'll ave a chance to see our boy Joe, and 
preaps bring him home agin as I'd like to. And there's a 
lady as you know we met at Wienna when we was at the Ex- 
position, and as boarded at the same hotel as we did, as was a 



weiy nice lady, she told me a lot about Ameriky, and oped ta 
see me there some day, and give me a pressing inwitation to 
go and see her. But I says, says I, I'm such a horful sailor 
I says, that I don't suppose I could live so long on the water, 
as ain't hamphiberos, as the sayin is. Then Brown, in a ufFy 
manner says. Cut that yarn old gal, as you'll have caps of 
time on the woyage, and can tell it to the marines ; and as for 
the lady you can pay er a wisit when you gets there. And 
look slippy in packin up as the steamer starts next Toosday. 
Well, as it was then Thursday, I adn't got no time to loose, 
and could get nothink new made up ; and what with pakin, 
and gettin some one to mind the ouse while we was away — ■ 
as was Mrs. Challin, who does our washin as lives quite near, 
and is as honest as can be — and what with urryin to the boat 
and the tossin about on the hocean, I couldn't tell whether I 
was in this world or the next till I put my foot on dry land 
in the land of the brave and the ome of the free, as the sayin 
is, as I've heerd em sing sometimes in the Crystial Pallis in 

London, 

(Enter Madame Croquet.) 

Mrs. B. Law, Mrs. Croky, ow har you ? 

Mme. Cr. You certainly have the advantage of me. I 
have met you before, I know, but I cannot remember where. 

Mrs. B. What, dont you remember me, Martha Brown? 
as you met on your tower through Europe? and as asked me 
to be sure to come and see you if hever I come over to 
Ameriky ? 

Mme. Cr. Good gracious, yes ! I am pleased to see you. 
How are you ? 

Mrs. B. I'm wery well thankee. You look well. 

Mme. Cr. I enjoy good health now, I am pleased to say. 
How long have you been in this country ? How do you like 
it ? When are you going back to England ? You are look- 
ing the picture of health. No wonder I did not recognize 
you when you fii'st came in. You have grown so stout since 
I met you in Vienna. You'll excuse me, won't you ? 

Mrs. B. Ha! ha! In course I will. Ha! ha! 

Mme. Cr. Do you think the sea voyage and change of air 
is the cause ? 

Mrs. B. Oh, dear, No. I thinks its cause I'm such a wery 
merry merry soul, and don't let nothink tvoiible me. And 
if you don't mind I'll give you my recipe. 



Upett. " Laugli and Grow Fat." Solo by Mrs. Bbowjj. 

The doctors liave been figlitlng long on this pretence and that ; 
But on this point they all agree: To laugh will make us fat. 
Then laugh, and you'll grow fat, I Ha! ha! I 
I Ha! ha! | 
Then laugh, and you'll grow fat, I Ha! ha! I 
I Ha! ha! I 
Let doctors fight with all their might, we'll laugh, I Ha ! ha ! ha ! I 

I Ha! ha! ha! \ 
Now langh, I Ha! ha! I Once again, I Ha! ha! I 
I Ha! ha! I |Ha!lui!| 

Now, both together, once again. 
(Both. ) "What a merry, merry time, with our laughing all in rhyme, 
"With our laughing. Ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha! 

Then banish all long faces, complaining, and all that, 

And ever keep in mind this truth. To laugh will make us fat. 

Mine. Cr. That's a comical recipe, and we could not have 
a better example of its effect than iu yourself. But, dear me, 
I have kept you standing all the time. You really must par- 
don me for being so rude. Pray take a seat, and tell me all 
the news. Now make yourself quite at home. 

(Mks. B. is about to sit in ana chair). 

My gracious Mrs. Brown ! pray don't sit in that chair ! 

Mrs. B. Why not! is it wet paint? 

Mme. Cr. Oh, dear no, ma'am ; but see — it is very rick- 
etty — and if it had broken down under you, you would have 
been hurt, most likely. 

Mrs. B. I wouldn't keep sich rubbige in my place if I was 
you. I'd burn it, or have it mended. One of the children 'U 
be a-breakin of their necks afore you can say Jack Robinson, 
as the sayin' is. 

Mme. Cr. I have a very great regard for that chair ; and 
my reason for keeping it is best expressed in the touching- 
lines of one of the greatest domestic poets, Eliza Cook. If 
you will, please, sit here, you shall hear them. 
_ Mrs. B. O decidedly 

Song. "The Ohl ^li'm Chair."' Mjie. Croquet. 

Mrs. B, Well, that is most touchin, and no mistake. But 
I were a-thinkin while }0u were a-siugin, I wonder whether 
my children'd walu my chair in which I set of evening, or the 
old kitchen table on which I did my bit of ironiu, and the 
like. Oh, no. They'd be a-fightin over the bits of things I'd 
left behind like Kilkenny cats, as the sayin is. Like Mrs, 
Cosen as lived in our street, as lost her good man through 
a-fallin down the stairs and breakin his neck a-carryin up 
a new sitit of clothes delighted, as were a nice little man and 



civil ; aud his ouly son grumbled at him afore the funeral,, 
and called him everythink cause the clothes wouldn't fit him. 
Ah, me ! Then there's our boy Joe, who was our pride and 
ope, as the sayin is, as we wanted to make a gennelman of, 
insted of caring for old arm chairs and them as sets in em, have 
gone aud made hisself a sailor. Only to think — a common 
sailor — and he glories in it too. I've been a-tryin to per- 
swade im to let us buy him off, but lor bless yer, he won't 
listen to it nohow, but keeps on singin in a aggrawatin way, 
Arts of hoak is our ship, and jolly tars is our men, tilt I feels 
horful savage with him. I got leave for him to come with 
me this evening, as I thought you'd talk him over, and per- 
swade him to leave the service and come ome with me. But 
when he came to your door he wouldn't come in. Oh my 
dear Mrs. Croky, I feels wevry, werry, werry sad, — I feela 
as though — my — poor — art'd — break. 

Mme. Cr. Come, cheer up, Mrs. Brown, don't fret so. I 
am sure Joe will be a comfort to you when you get old. But 
boys will be boys, you know, and, therefore, we cannot ex- 
pect them to see things in the same light as we do. How- 
ever, I will endeavor to convince him that he ought to leave 
the service for your sake. "Where is he ? 

Mrs. B. Hark! that's his woice, bless hi ra. Ow appy he 
do seem, to be sure. He's out in the garden with your gal, I 
think. 

(Mme. Cr. goes to windo-w.) 
Mme. Cr. You are quite right, ma'am, for there he is, 
talking to Sarah. Excuse me a moment, I will invite him 

to come up. 

(Exit Mme. Cr. ) 

Mrs. B. I'm afeard youll ave your trouble for nothing, for 
he don't care for no company, escept hi.-^ shipmates. But he'll 

(Advances to window, and opens it.) 

ketch his death of cold, as the sayin is, with his neck all bare, 
them sailors is so horful careless of theirselves. An't he a 
splendind fellow. He do look noble standin there a-talkin to 
that gal. I do ope as they'll make a captin of im some day. 
It seems a shame for to disturb im while he's appy, but he 
mustn't be hout in the night liair. I'll call im. Joe ! Ha ! 
ha ! He don't know as is mother called him, and keeps on 
a-looking round to see where the woice comes from, aud that 
gal looks round huneasily. And there goes Mrs. Croky as 
quiet as a mouse, as the sayin is, behind the harber where 



they is. There, now, that gal's got a sight of her, and, 

my goodness, ain't she nimble ! ju*t see er fly acrost the gar- 
den. Ha! ha! Now, how stuiml of that Joe. If he ain't 
a-goin away. I spose he don't see Mrs. Croky among the 
flowers. Why don't she go t'other way round and meet him 'i 
Joe ! Joe ! He cars me this time, and looks round. Joe 1 
Don't you see Mrs. Croky down there, as wants to speak to 
you particlar. No, no, not there, but round there by that 
statue of a woman oldin up a flag with a man's nightcap on. 
Ah, now he sees her. Tiiere now, just as I said, that stupid 
boy as run from er, and is idin behind the bu-hes. Oh, Joe, 
Joe, I've been tryin to heddicate you for a g;^ntleman, but 1 
cant make nothink of you, you ain't got no manners in you. 
Oh dear me I feels worry, werry sad, and I feel as though my 

heart will break. 

(Sits down to weep. Joe Browx coines in at window.) 

Joe. What, mother d(?ar, crying again? What's the 
trouble now ? People will think you were born in cucumber 
season if you shed so many tears. Besitios, you will waste 
away to a mere skeleton. You are already getting quite thin 
and pale — a mere shadow of your former self. Come, now,- 
mother dear, who's been upsetting you ? 

Mrs. B. Nobody, Joe. And I know I'm wastin away, as 
Miss Pilkiuton said I only measured 41 inches round when 
she made my last dress. Oh, I know I'm getting tliin and 
pale, as its all through you, Joe, a-beiu so fond of that ship, 
a-tossin about on the hoshun, as make me feel sick to think on. 
The end of it'll be, you'll run agin a rock in the dark some 
stormy night, and you'll all go down to Davy Jones's locker 
in less than no time, as the saj'^n is. Then what'll become 
of me, as can only find comfort in a good cry. 

Joe. (I've just come to say " Good bye," as it's time for 
joe to be aboard, but I haven't the heart to tell her.) 

SOXG. "The Boy in Blue" JOE BUOWN. 

Cheer up, cliccv up, my mother dear, Oh, why do you sit and weep ? 
Do you think that He wlio guards nie here, forsakes me on tlie deep ? 
Let Hope and Faith illume the glauee that sees the bark set sail. 
Look ! look at her now, and see her dance ! Oh, why do you turn so pale? 
'Tis an English ship and an English erew 

So, mother, be proud of your boy in blue. 

Oh, wonder not that, next to thee, I love the galloping wave; 

'Tis the first of coursers, wild and free, and only carries the brave. 

It has borne me nigh to the dark lee shore, but we struggled heart and baud. 

And a fight with the sea iu its angry roar, shames all your strife ou land. 



The Btonu was* long but it found me true. 

So, mother, be proud of you7- boy in blue. 

And if the breakers kill our ship, and your boy goes down in the foam, 
Be sure the last breath on his lip, is a prayer for those at home. 
But come, cheer up, methinks I heard a voice in the anchor chain, 
That whispered, like a fairy bird, '' The bark will come again." 
God bless thee, mother, adieu, adieu, 

But never weep for your boy in blue. 

Mrs. B. Pray don't go yet Joe. I've travelled these many 
many miles in opes to meet you, and to buy you out if you'll 
let us, and ycr father is at the liolel a-smokin with the money 
in his pocket all ready. We can't a-bear the thought that 
our only son is a sailor. It seems so horful. 

Joe. Awful ! Mother dear ? You must be dreaming. 
What is there ?o awful in the life of a sailor ? Nothing more 
than in tlie life of a landman. There are many dangers at 
sea I own, — storm, fire, wreck, and death, — but have you 
not like dangers on laud ? The same kind Providence is 
watching o'er land and sea, therefore we have no cause for 
fear. Don't say it's awful to be a sailor, mother ; I think it's 
a jolly life. 

Mrs. B. I didn't mean as it was horful to be a sailor, Joe ; 
but as it was horful to have your houly son a-tossia on the 
hoshun day and night, and not know whether he was dead or 
alive, as tlie sayin is. 

Joe. There mny be some trutli in that, mother ; but you 
remember that there would be just as much uncertainty if I 
worked on shore, some miles away from you. Then, think, 
what would you do without sailors ? You wouldn't be able 
to enjoy your cup of tea, nor have sugar to sweeten it; nor 
cotton, nor lace, nor foreign fashion books. If some one's 
boys were not sailors, you would never have visited this beau- 
tiful country, nor have been able to enjoy every night that 
little drop of something nice, 

Mrs. B. Joseph ! Do you forget where you har ! (Ex- 
poging me before people.) 

Joe. Well, mother, I mu-t go. It is getting late, and it 
is time I was on my way. See, there lies the good old ship 
in the offing. Isn't she graceful. Doesn't she look noble 
in the moonlight, with her spars pointing to heaven. The 
bo'son is standing down there on the beach, by tlie boat, wait- 
to take me on board. Good bye, mother dear, God bless you. 
Now, cheer up, we'll rneet again soon. Hurrah ! 

(Exit JOK Browh', through window. ) 



Mrs. B. Good — bye, — Joe. Honly to think. 

that I should come all them miles, on purpose to buy im oui 
of the service, and im to throw cold water on my plans, as 

the sayin is. ■ I dunno how I'm to get hack to Hing- 

land I'm sure. I'm certain I can't live through all that ere 
pitchin, and tossin, and joltin, and poolyorlin, as am a baa 
sailor at tlie best of times. I did think as I come over as I 
should ave ad my .Joe to buoy me up on my way back, as is 
a good sailor, and could elp wonderful when I was sick, and 
not be like Brown, as thinks of nothink else but taking his 
pipe and leanin over the bulwai-ks all day ; though why they 
calls it the bull-walk I can't make hout, as I haven't seen any 
bulls walk there, and don't believe they could if they tried. 
Ah, me, I suppose I shall manage to get ome again someow ; 
but I don't see any reason why I should stand and wait for 
Mrs. Croky, while there's a cheer wacant, though I want to 
be gone ; and I know that while I'm standin I'm goin, as the 
sayin is, but I feels werry tired. 

(Takes a seat, and jumps up suddenly). 
Oh 1 What's that? Tiiere now, if I haven't been and set on 
that bag of peanuts. What a lucky thing they wasn't heggs. 
Now I bought them peanuts on my way here, and the man 
as sold em to me told me as they was the choicest delicacy in 
the United States. So I says to him. Indeed, says I, and 
ow much do you charge ? So he says, None but the great 
folks patronizes them, as is werry expensive, and when they 
has big [)artios does nothink but set on the piazzas and lean 
out of the windows eatiu peauuts, and pel tin each other with 
the shells, as makes em all laugh arty, and is only 15 cents a 
quart. So I says, says I, Let me ave a quart, as I never see 
them in Europe. Lor bless you, says he, they're too scarce, 
and would fetch a dollar a-piece if some one could manage to 
smuggle some into Hingland. So when I was settin in the 
car I thought as I'd tasie em, when — ugh — I never before 
tasted &uch soajiy things, so I put em in my pocket thinkin as 
Joe might like em, and my feelings was so overcome as I for- 
all about em. Now I wonder if could catch im, before he 
gets werry far ? As I can call comin back, and fetch my 

(Drops peanuts, and pick tliem up, grumbling.) 

things. There now, just like me, most aste least speed, as the 
eayin is. 

(Exit by window, and shortly re-enter.) 

I'm just like a bad penny, sure to come back, as the sayin is. 



After a-wanderiu all down to the gardiug gate, 1 fonud it 
locked, as was werry aggravvatin, being so tired, and would 
have climbed over, only for some rude boys as was slandin 
outside, and slioutin' out Walk hup and see the man-aggery, 
as this is the helephant a-walkin about; and when I looked 
at em sewei'e like they all bust out a-larfin. Oh, didn't I feel 
aggrawated. But I had foi'got my humberelia, or I'd ave give 
em such a poke with it through that gate as'd made em larf 
tother side of their mouths, as the savin is. Yes, this is the 
knid of thing every lady ougher carry when she goes hout al] 
halone, as it gives a hair of gentility to em, and it is a great 
pretecshun in case of mad dogs or bullocks, whicli you can 
open and frighten em if done sudden ; and you can ail a omli- 
bus heasy, and prod the conductor wiih it when you want to 
git hout. But I mustn't stop a-talkiu, though its werry plea^ 
sant, or else I'll miss Joe, and he won't get these peanuts.' 

(Exit IMits. Beow'.n", door. Enter XIjie. Croquet, at window, talking ) 
Mme. Cr. V.'ell, Mrs. Brown, I can say that I did have 
the pleasure of seeing your son, and that is all ; for as soon 
as he saw me coming he raised his hat and hurried off as fast 

as "What! has she gone? She might have 

iiad the politeness to stay and sa}^ " Good-bye." But jierhaps 
she could not wait. Well, she is the queerest old lady I liave 
seen for a long time ; but .•-he's a good, kind old soul, always 
willing to help any one in trouble. She has liad a large sum 
of money left lier by some I'icli relation in Botany Bay, or 
somewhere else, I forget where. I cannot say I admire her 
style of dress, especially her bonnet ; but I suppose it is use- 
ful, as it certainly is not ornamental. And what a ]»ity it is 
she does not take more care where she places her ll's. I 

wonder if she Hever took 'er diploma ? 

(Enter M. Croquet.) 

Why, Perry, where on earth have you been all this time '',, 
But, there, I can see by the ink on your fingers that you * 

M. Cr. Where diil that box c-onie from ? 

Mme. Cr. AVhich box ? I don't know. 

M. Cr. Then we'll soon find out. 

(Opens tlie Box. It appears to be empty, but proves to be full of a miscellaneous 
stock of articles, also Mrs Brown's bottle, etc.. and a costume whicli JI. 
<£• Mme. Ck. put on, and sing a Duett, " Keuben and Ilacliel," or " Gipsy 
Countess," or any new or pojmlar duett. Exit Mme. Cr. M. Cb. packs 
up the box, &c., and carries it otT Enter Sakaii Keeves with a 

letter, alternately singing and talking, quizzing the letter.) 

Sarah. (Och, girls dear did ye ever hear, I wrote my love 



a letter) Isn't master here f (And althougli he cannot read 
or write, sure I thought 'twas all the better). I wonder who 
this is from ? (For why should he be troubled with hard 
spellin in the matter ?) I — • re-main — ■ your — faith-ful — ■_ 
friend — Job. (When the maning was so plain). Job ! now 

I wonder who Job is ? Job ! Job ! 

(Euter M. Croquet. ) 
(3, here's a letter for you, sir. [Ah, me, I wish some one 

would write me a letter.] 

(M. Ck. opens letter. Sarah tries to look over.) 

M. Cr. That will do, Sarah, thank you. You may leave 
the room. 

(Exit Sarah, singing, ''i love liim faithfiil-ly," &c.) 

I've just received this letter from one that I very much esteem, 
and had hoped to have met this evening ; and as it also con- 
cerns you, my friends, permit me to read it. 

Somnolent Road, (date). 
M. Croquet, — My very dear friend, 

Your kind invitation to your Suiiper Party is now before lue. 1 
certainly wish it were possible for me to be present, for no one appreciates, nor 
can appreciate, a supper more than I, esiiecially when prepared by such hands 
as your dear wife's. Unfortunately I cannot accept your invite, for in spite of 
tlie enjoyment it would l>e to myself, it would not compensate for the after-suf- 
ferings imposed upon me. Wishing that you and your friends may have a 
splendid time, anil that 1 niay have the pleasure of seeing you shortly, 

I remain, your faithful friend. Job. 

M. Cr. Ladies and gentlemen, as this letter i-equires a little 
explanation to make it intelligible, if you will excuse me for 
a few moments I will endeavor to illustrate my friend. Job's 
letter. 

(Curtaiu falls. When it rises again a Bedroom scene is disclosed. Mr. C.^udlk 
lying down and Mrs. Caudle sitting up behind him in bed. In which 
position is delivered [in dialogue form] one of the well-known 

CURTAIL LECTURES. 
At the conclusion of which, both M. ami Mme. Choquet advance, and 
M. Cr. bids their friends adieu.) 

Ladies and gentlemen, — As it is now getting late, and 
many of you may have some distance to go, we shall draw 
this party to a close. We thank you for your kind presence, 
and hope that you have had a " good time ;" and we trust that 
ere long you will " call again," and bring your friends to take 
part in 

Madame Croquet's Supper Party. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

016 102 863 



